


the night was made for you and me

by bountifulsilences



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Kinda, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Strangers to Lovers, this is just fluff, what can i tell ya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 23:41:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18215246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bountifulsilences/pseuds/bountifulsilences
Summary: Plastering a real smile on his face, he wiped the stubborn gleam off his fingers and greeted, “good… night. How are you this fine night?” He frowned. “I said night too many times.”The man laughed, not loud but rather quietly, and nodded in assent. “Da, yes, you did. But it's okay, the forces have conspired against us tonight, we are out of element.”“They really did, didn't they? It's a mess out there,” he commented, peering out of the windows quickly. Still chaotic. “Now, onto more important things. What can I get for you?”He hummed, seemingly unsure and surveyed the menu again. Eventually, he smiled and stared at Steve, calculating. “Surprise me.”or, the one where someone new enters Steve's coffee shop (Bucky) and he never leaves from then on.





	the night was made for you and me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mundane97](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mundane97/gifts).



> this is a gift for the amazing and most beautiful,  yani  who requested stevebucky and gave me free reign over what to write?? shockingly, I wrote fluff, which is wow. but alas what is done is done !
> 
> I hope yall enjoy this (esp you bud) and can ignore the mistakes because I just. can't. edit. i'm sorry, you deserve so much better. lmao.
> 
> I love you yani!! hope you like this pal <3

Someone new entered the shop.

As usual the sparsely spread seats are mostly empty, save for those occupied by regulars Steve could identify by name. They are far and thin, as most clientele for the establishment are, but the ones he's hooked on the fishnet were loyal to the bone.

The student, Hawa, was beside the window, typing furiously on her laptop and hastily cramming a muffin that Sam made earlier into her mouth; she visited often since it was exam season. A couple of seats behind her was an elderly man who was there almost as much as Steve, ordering a single herbal tea that he nursed until dawn. In the centre of the room was an Asian man, Lee Min-Ho, glasses riding down his face as he mouthed words from the Korean-to-English dictionary, writing them down in a colourful blue notepad, patterned with green bubbles.

He didn't know much of these people apart from their names and having memorized their orders (was it something in the night air that commanded simplicity?) and that they preferred being left in their company unless they explicitly wanted otherwise; Lee occasionally asked for help when he struggled on a word or phrase that Steve readily offered, even though he knew nothing of Molecular Biology he would quiz Hawa if she requested- there was a mutual understanding between them. The elderly man ignored them resolutely.

So, when an alien face presented in his shop he was aware, their unfamiliarity making them stick out like a sore thumb.

His shop was an odd place, Sam and his ideas clashing to birth Artisan Coffee. Artwork conceived with his gentle strokes lingered on the walls, red checkered carpet hosted the seating area, whilst a wooden fence sectioned off the area to queue and order where floorboards covered the expanse. Three posters as large as canvas’ were at the drinks station and counter, all supporting fair trade and work integrity.

Being an independent brand had its advantages, and those often presented themselves when his supplier followed ethical guidelines he could get behind. Not to mention the plastic free resources he housed and the infinite need to recycle; Sam was a gift who was just as adamant on being as environmentally and people friendly as they could.

Customers in such a place were something he couldn't believe he was blessed with, after all he knew his shop wasn't the most aesthetic store in the market. But it was quiet, homey and offered the perfect refuge for those who wanted to work or simply needed to escape their homes for a designated amount of time. The mere plus it was open for 24 hours was its winning factor.

Which was why seeing the new suitor enter the shop at 1:32 AM wasn't surprising but it was worth considering. He wore a simple outfit of an assembly of black and had stuffed his hands into the pockets of leather jacket. The jeans were skin tight, painted on almost and the plain black tee had little to showcase. Despite it, Steve looked him up and down again.

He shuffled further into the room, undisturbed by the wooden seats decorated with the same print as the carpet, or the dim lights that Steve manually controlled to accommodate the eyesight of his clientele, or even the space behind the counter that was void of an employee. He wandered in and began to inspect the food on display, content in waiting near the entrance because the store was smaller than the competition.

Glancing at the book full of numbers and scrawls, financial statements that he had to complete to discuss with Sam in the morning, he closed the journal and it released a sigh. Pushing out of his seat, he plastered a smile that always came easy to him and navigated around the fence to enter the workspace from the corner of the room. Alarmed, the man looked up at the noise he made and stared at his smile, seemingly unable to reciprocate. Steve didn't mind, most people awake at night were less than optimal.

Swinging the gate and passing through, he waved the guy to the till; strolling over to him with less confidence than he expected, the guy stopped before him and met his gaze.

“Hi, what can I get you?” Steve asked, voice low to maintain the silence in the sanctuary he had created.

The man nodded, and then coughed effectively breaking their eye contact. Looking behind Steve at the menu that stretched across a protruding section of stone, his eyes scanned it noting the options available. There weren't a lot, nobody came to Artisan Coffee for a fancy drink despite its tantalizing name, but it had enough to cover the basics. The essentials in beverages.

A few footsteps past the entrance was a mini fridge that proffered pre-made drinks and sandwiches. Four shelves high, each was designated with a certain group of edibles, independent brands trying to find their footing in a fast track market. He was an avid supporter of those like him, trying to make it in a mainstream world.

“Uh, can I get a coffee please?” the man asked, voice gentle like he had just woken up, slurred and muffled with the thick mist of slumber.

“You sure it isn’t too late for that?” he asked, eyebrow raised but smiling, nonetheless.

That evoked a thinly spread smile of the man's own lips. Muted amusement spun in the thread of his iris, but it was too weak for Steve to nurture. “I think it’s early enough to warrant some caffeine.”

“My bad,” Steve said jokingly, raising his hands and inclining towards the station where the disposable cups were and the mugs. “Which would you prefer? We have a selection for you to choose from.”

“Take away, please,” he requested, nodding at the recyclable option.

Steve’s smile deflated slightly when he said that, stupidly enough he had hoped that the man would stay for longer than the time it took Steve to get his drink ready. But, of course, the tender eyes with wrinkles encompassing the mesmerising sea on a sunny day had business elsewhere.

“Coming right up!” he declared, preparing the drink.

All the ingredients he needed were stacked next to each other, and after retrieving a disposable cup he went back to the counter which distracted him from the man and warmed the water in the kettle. Lightly, he tapped his fingers against the worktop and took a glimpse at the rest of the residents to find that they were how he left him.

It was cold outside, inescapable in the fall really, and with scathing winds came an indescribable clear sky. The windows at the back of the shop made up the entire wall so everything could be seen, even the lower half of outside if he peered hard enough. But the sky was an unperturbed view always, and with the clouds having been swept away to reveal the clandestine stars shimmering as the moons ray penetrated their core illuminating them, it was calming. Serene. Perhaps that was what the older man found too.

He focussed on the drink once the water boiled and poured the default amount of coffee grinds into the cup. Considering the other components, he paused before placing on top and asked expectantly, “are we having milk, sugar, cream?”

Tiredly, the man shook his head and replied, “no.” Then, realising what he was questioned he shook his head almost as though he was embarrassed. “ _Da_ \- _nyet_ \- I mean yes. Yes, I would, please. I was just-” he waved his arms around messily and shook with a weak chuckle. “Your posters demanded my attention and I couldn't say no.”

Inexplicably endeared, Steve grinned warmly at him. “They’re pretty good posters, it’s good to know someone’s feeding their ego. Also, milk, sugar, cream?” On an afterthought, he added, “also, what language was that?”

It could have been German, but he wasn’t sure, not very skilled in the language department. His mind struggled with English from time to time, another dialect entirely would fry his brain until it was dried out. Like an intellectual, he stuck to what he was best at: art and coffee. That didn’t sate the curiosity that was born having heard the foreign words uttered from the strange man.

“Two teaspoons of sugar and a splash of milk. And, Russian,” he divulged, looking away when he said so.

As Steve put the appropriate amount of product in the cup, he carried on his subtle enquiry- well what he hoped was subtle anyway. “Russian? Did you learn that in school or…”

“Russia,” he stated. When Steve nodded encouragingly, he commented, “lived there before I migrated to America.”

It was clear that he didn’t wish to say anymore, not so much shy as he was uncomfortable, so Steve let it drop. He wouldn’t pry, whatever information he got he’d have to accept, even though the longer they spoke the more he wanted to know.

Why did he move? When? Why was he awake? Did he like cream or was he like Steve and did not? What was his name?

Passing him his cup, Steve said, “anything else or is that it?”

Sheepish, he asked, “uh, can I have a blueberry muffin? Please? I was supposed to tell you before but-” he gestured at the poster again.

“Your wish is my command.”

Using a napkin, he apprehended an innocent muffin and pulled a small bag from underneath the counter, dropping it inside. Meanwhile, the man asked, “Aladdin?”

Steve was certain that dripping from his raspy voice was mirth, beautiful and honest merriment that he didn’t bother to conceal. Handing the bag over to him, the corner of Steve’s lips tugged upwards and he huffed a laugh. “It’s a whole new world around these ends my friend.”

As he pressed the digits on the register to total up his fee, he heard a teasing voice proclaim, “definitely a new point of view.”

“That will be $5.80 and an additional twenty cents for the charity box cause there’s no one to tell you no,” he said, grin in full formation as he watched the man recovered a worn leather wallet from his front pocket.

He was quick and precise in accumulating the money and carefully transferred to Steve. Then, showcasing a dollar, he purposely made a scene putting it into the container. “I hope that now you won’t tell me where to go.”

“I’m feeling generous tonight, you’re allowed to stay if you’d like,” Steve offered, hoping he didn't project how much he wanted the man to stay.

Steve was undeniably interested, he was curious to know who the man was, his likes and his dislikes, how he took his eggs in the morning. If he even ate eggs. It was creepy and he knew it, but he was intrigued. He wanted to know more.

“An offer for me to hold onto for another day,” he said in the passing, a promise to return was how Steve saw it. “Thank you for this.”

He turned to the entrance and started his walk towards it. Watching him walk, mesmerised, Steve called eventually, “have a nice night!”

The man turned around, all soft edges in the leather and skin-tight jeans, blue eyes submerging Steve completely, he was half attentive when he registered the, “you too.” too busy appreciating the man.

A second later, the door slammed shut softly, a gush of cold air soaring into the store and diverting the attention of its occupants. Their heads to the source of their chill and then him. Nodding his head at them, he exited the workspace and maneuvered around the fence to resume his seat and task at hand.

He had finances to manage. Thinking of a man who was not at all impressed with his presence at more than a professional level could wait.

 

* * * *

 

“Clint back away from the coffee,” Steve instructed, mid-clean.

The scorching cup of coffee was left at the side to cool whilst he worked. There were a few minutes before his shift started, him being Clint’s successor, and he figured since service was slow, he’d ensure everything was ready for himself.

Grumbling, Clint did as Steve said but not before indulging in a quick sip and humming in assent. It met his standards apparently.

Glaring, Steve turned around and using the cloth in his hand he whipped Clint’s arm, saying, “asshole.”

“It was begging me to drink it!” Clint reasoned, grinning, voice laced with amusement.

Staring at him unimpressed, Steve rolled his eyes and continued doing what he was. It was fast approaching 10pm and the few that ventured into the black canopy would be arriving soon. Eyes tired, hearts full and agenda scripted.

“I'm sure it was, now get lost. I have things to do and you're distracting me.” A fable with no detrimental impact. Clint was already as good as gone.

“Trying to get rid of me so soon, Rogers?” he teased, slinging a backpack over his shoulders full of nothing but dog treats. It wasn't unusual for Clint to feed stray animals on his way home, resonating with their silence. For the most part, the blue pack draped on his back was empty. Yet he never forgot it.

“Always,” he replied, blowing over a kiss with a smirk.

Catching the kiss like butterflies in a net into his fist, he staggered backwards and placed the hand onto his chest, above his heart where he released it, a look of euphoria consuming his features. Steve chuckled lightly. He was flattered.

Resuming his work, he heard the sharp wind battling itself outside and vicious raindrops splattering on the concrete. A chill swarmed into the heat and snaked around him, ice gnawing at the warmth nestled within the veins and arteries, delicately positioned in his body. He shivered, his entire body quivering as he expelled the cold, and a brief thought flashed in his mind, quick as lightning. Would they come?

Perhaps they wouldn't, the humidity in the air had hatched such a storm that the October night had no choice but to endure it. But Steve knew, he had witnessed, that come rain or shine the usual’s would trudge inside, soaked to the bone and trembling uncontrollably as they withstood the chill that painted itself onto them like second skin. Whether or not tonight would the same, he couldn't say.

But he knew that if they needed refuge, needed the escape Artisan Coffee offered, they'd be there.

The first to burst through the door, teeth clanking against each other and eyes wide, skin paler than the moon, was the Lee. His books were safe in briefcase he bought with him, and rather than wearing his trench coat, he wore one more suitable for the weather. It wasn't enough to shelter him though, and Steve's instinct kicked in the moment his eyes raked the man up and down.

“Jesus Christ, it's awful out there, isn't it?” he greeted, hurrying over. Holding out the palm of his hand, he said, “let me put your coat to the side, it should be dry and warm by the time you need it.”

Gratefully, Lee passed the drenched material, revealing his wet hair that plastered to his forehead.

Smiling reassuringly, Steve held the coat over the carpet and instructed, “the heaters are on so go sit by one. I'll bring you the usual?”

A herbal tea that he had enquired of the first day he visited and a brunch bar for later on. Seeing him hunched over the table and furiously rubbing his hands together, blowing on his palms, Steve frowned and decided to make him toast. It was comfort food.

Hanging the coat in the employee only area and ensuring the heater was turned on so that it could be roasted to dryness, he grabbed a new packet of sliced bread and went back to the front. As he prepared the tea and collected the bar, he softly called, “excuse me,” capturing the Lee’s attention.

“Yes?” he replied, voice raspy as his throat was still warming.

“How does toast sound? Something to warm you up? It's on the house,” Steve asked, waving the plastic packet.

“Please,” Lee said with said a grimace, pushing his wet hair out of his face.

“Toast coming right up!” Steve declared.

Whilst making the toast, the elderly man hustled inside, clearly winded. Concerned, Steve made a move to address him but when hit with a sharp look he stayed back. Merely offering his hand so he could hang the coat, he apprehended it and hung it in the back. Returning, he fixed the man's herbal tea and began to make him some food.

Whilst that was being done, he gave Lee his things, who was still recovering from the battering winds. He smiled thankfully at Steve, and said, “thank you Steve. I ap-ap-”

“Appreciate?” Steve asked.

His face illuminated with joy. “Yes! That! Ap-appreciate. I appreciate it. Thank you.”

“No problem, Lee.” He waved it off with a smile and left him to butter the older man's bread and give him his tea.

He may not want it, Steve was no stranger to having his food rejected by him before, but he couldn't bear not having it presented for him to know that if he wanted it, he could have it, talking unnecessary. There was something about him that had Steve attached, and he knew he was a little attached to everyone and that it was unprofessional, but seeing them so often, it made him comfortable.

Which, for a place which harbours countless migrations from people who are tired or running late or simply in need of a fix, he knew that not everyone stayed. He wished that they did. Foolish, but the seed had been planted. Every time he served them and every time they entered the shop, they nurtured it. It wasn't his fault.

Or so he claimed. Sighing, he shook the thoughts out of his head, momentarily listening to the rain; it came down fast and hard, each raindrop an asteroid in the meteor shower. There was beauty in their fall, he noted, and that came as the tranquillity that washed over him.

After dealing with the two customers, he made himself a hot chocolate that he brought to the table he claimed as his own. Nursing the drink in his palm, thumb hooked over the handle and fingers sprayed around the equator, he leaned back in the chair and held his head so it wouldn't fall. Closing his eyes in between sips, he just listened, muting the rare shuffle from Lee.

He could easily fall asleep to it, he thought, despite the ferocity and the howls in the gales. He shouldn't, but he could and that was what he held onto.

It wasn't that long after that he heard the door open again. His mug was long forgotten on the table and he was listening to the storm, eyes closed and content. But the drop in temperature, the hushed curse and the sound of despair propelled his eyelids so they could reveal his shop. By the entrance, he saw the man from the night before.

Dishevelled, doused in rain and clearly in need of assistance, he was quick to rip the jacket off his body and put it over the fence so it could hang. He wore sweatpants that were saturated to his knees and a jumper with a designer logo printed across the chest. The wrist of the hoodie was wet, but he merely folded them over, shuddering as the door reached its halt.

With sudden energy, Steve was on his feet and making his way over to him, eyes glazing over the water glistening on the man’s forehead and the pink flush around his nose and cheeks. The jacket was forming a puddle where it hung and Steve contemplated getting a sign to warn others over the area figured against it, no one would come now and if they did, he’d tell them.

Pausing a couple of steps behind him, Steve muttered, “hey, pass me your jacket? I'll put it round back so it can dry.”

Startling despite the noise Steve made whilst arriving, the man nodded, lips curved with gratitude and apprehended the wet fabric depositing in Steve's palm. It squelched during the transfer, an awful noise that penetrated the silence with a knife, but Steve was quick to carry it in his palms and hurry to the back where he's hung it with the rest. It was all he could offer.

When he returned, less frantic and amused, he halted mid step seeing the man at the counter. It wasn't unusual, he'd only been there once, and Steve couldn't possibly determine his usual in such a short visit. But he expected that he would have, adding toast to the equation as a token of goodwill.

But the man with kind eyes that were painted as though they contained the calm sky hovering about gentle seas, was waiting for him and would be ordering again. That was fine. Steve was prepared for this. It was his job.

Plastering a real smile on his face, he wiped the stubborn gleam off his fingers and greeted, “good… night. How are you this fine night?” He frowned. “I said night too many times.”

The man laughed, not loud but rather quietly, and nodded in assent. “ _Da_ , yes, you did. But it's okay, the forces have conspired against us tonight, we are out of element.”

“They really did, didn't they? It's a mess out there,” he commented, peering out of the windows quickly. Still chaotic. “Now, onto more important things. What can I get for you?”

He hummed, seemingly unsure and surveyed the menu again. Eventually, he smiled and stared at Steve, calculating. “Surprise me.”

“You sure you want to trust me with that sort of power? I'm a barista, I can conjure up a concoction.” Steve raised his eyebrows but grinned too, excitement rumbling in his abdomen.

“Oh, I know. But I trust that I’m in safe hands,” he replied, almost knowingly, as though Steve’s adoration for him was scripted on his face. He needed to control himself.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly despite knowing he would undeniably try to impress the man. “You find yourself a seat and warm up, I'll be with you in a sec.”

Humming, the man nodded and turned away slyly, slithering to the seat Steve had occupied the night before. Dropping onto the seat which he had sat, he sent two thumbs up his way before digging into his pockets, searching. For his phone no doubt, that's what Steve would being doing.

He made hot chocolate, a must in that weather, and the toast which he had offered to everyone else. On a second thought, he included a blueberry muffin just because he had asked for it the night before. Maybe he’d appreciate the gesture. That was all Steve wanted really.

Placing down the tray where he had laid the food, Steve carefully bestowed them on the wooden surface, naming each thing as he did. The man smiled, lips quirking slowly, and nodded as though he paid vehement attention to each item and the reason it was offered. Steve was rambling, he knew it. But he couldn’t stop.

Once it was done, and he was preparing to take the tray back to the counter and feign being curious to his job, the man questioned, “and where is yours?”

Confused, he mumbled, “huh?”

“Your drink,” he clarified, pointing at his own. “I thought we could, maybe, have a drink together?” His confidence plummeted quickly at Steve’s ignorance and lack of response. He was eager to add, “I understand that you’re working _, vse v poryadke_ \- it’s fine, you must have things to do. I-”

“- can get myself a drink right now,” Steve declared, interrupting. He wanted to get to know Steve, he wanted him to sit and talk and reside next to him. The shop was the busiest it would get, he had time to spare.

“Are you sure?” he asked, doe eyed and apologetic, “you don’t have to- not on my account.”

Nodding understandingly, he replied, “I know. But I want to, if the offer still stands that is.”

“The offer was never revoked,” he placated.

Steve grinned. He left and made himself a hot chocolate again, before sneaking a brownie onto a white plate and returning to his customer, sitting on the inviting seat opposite him.

He was smiling beautifully, as expected as Steve figured that he couldn’t look anything but. His long eyelashes arched to the sky and exposed his sea blue eyes with depth that could drown a man if it wasn’t for the softness that sparkled within the iris. He wanted to talk to Steve.

“Hot chocolate, excellent choice,” he commented, taking a sip of his own drink. His lips pouted around the cup and Steve had to force himself to look away.

“I am a man of great taste,” he joked, shrugging his shoulders.

His fingers trembled. Nervous. With no barrier of work between them he was nervous, didn’t want to make a bad impression. As Sam usually said, he was an idiot.

“That you are,” he confirmed, “I have also realised that I haven’t gave you my name.”

“Now would be a good time,” Steve joked again, which fell flat despite the laugh emanating from the other man's throat.

And- “Bucky. My name is Bucky.” The word drifted between them, calmer than the winds that ravaged the outside, and weighted by the reveal.

Bucky.

“Bucky,” he breathed, almost subconsciously. “It oddly fits.”

“So, I’ve been told,” Bucky chuckled. “It is a nickname. My actual name is rather boring. James,” he said with evident disdain. “Not quite me.”

“No, I guess it isn't,” Steve conceded. 

He wanted to get to know Bucky, colourfully intrigued and wanting. There was much he was yet to learn. And as the night developed, he did, stories and questions and answers being shared between them like darts to a board, until the rain alleviated, and the sky was dried out.

It turned out that Bucky just as amazing as he thought he was, all that and more. He wanted to know everything he could, and intended to do so.

 

* * * *

 

A routine was formed, unexpected but very welcomed. Every day, around the same time, Bucky would amble into the shop and order the same thing: hot chocolate with a blueberry muffin. He’d invite Steve to sit with him as he learned quickly that not a lot of people visited during the night, and so Steve would, without a fight.

They spoke about everything and anything, Steve learning about Bucky’s life in Russia and how he came to the US after persistent orders from his friend. She was an incredible woman, but not someone who would settle for rejection. They also discussed the shop and the work that went into birthing it. Sam and Steve were the founding fathers of Artisan Coffee, spending most (all) of their funds into making it what it was: an arguable mess.

Bucky was interested, nodding as he stared intently at Steve’s face, allured by a story that was not at all that intriguing. There was no climax to it, just two friends who bought, refurbished and built a home for coffee which was still going strong. But despite that, Bucky wanted to hear it all. Perhaps his delicately chiselled fingers yearned to open a business of a similar kind? It would be heartening to hear the voyage of Steve’s success, a motivation as such. He couldn’t argue with that.

In fact, he couldn’t argue with much of what Bucky said. Could only ask for a translation as he seemed to delve into Russian whilst talking, almost unknowingly. It was a lot more endearing than it should have been and Steve loved it.

“See, the thing was there were so many. Steve, I’m talking hundreds, and my feeble arms-” Steve’s eyes gravitated to the muscles defined by the thin shirt that just seemed to be getting tighter- Jesus- “can’t carry them all. I’d say _остановить это, достаточно поделиться_ , but alas they are cats and I am human, it was always a doomed mission.”

Steve laughed, and asked, “uh Buck, what does…”

Realisation eclipsing the amusement, Bucky breathed a laugh. “It means, ‘stop it, share’ basically. I’m sorry, I always forget and it’s- it’s a habit I can’t break?” He said it in a sheepish voice, white teeth gleaming under the fluorescent bulb, as the beamed brighter than fresh snow blanketing the earth.

“No, no it’s fine. I like it,” Steve clarified, forcing his eyes away from Bucky’s smile. “Think I’m gonna need an interpreter though, think you know of anyone?”

Knowingly, Bucky reclined in the seat and took a sip, eyes never straying from Steve. Once he exhaled a breath of air and sated, he said teasingly, “I think I know someone. Their charges are high, but their company is exceptional.”

“Oh, is that so?” Steve raised an eyebrow, leaning onto the table and absently, he noted closer to Bucky. “What sort of prices are we talking?”

Mimicking Steve, he rested his elbows on the wooden surface and smirked, their faces undeniably close. “Their payment is…. for every session, a date in return. Fair’s fair.”

His grin was luminous, he just knew it was. “So, you’re telling me, that for every session, I get to spend time with him for free and out of work hours?”

Bucky hummed.

“Well, it’s costly, I’ll tell you that. But I think I can scavenge some time for him somewhere,” Steve said, a feigned despaired sigh releasing from his lips. His lips that were contorted in glee permanently, because his stars aligned, and his world was perfectly unbalanced at the confession.

“ _Da_ , Stevie, the payment is excessive. But if you’re willing then so am I,” Bucky said unnecessarily because Steve? Steve was vibrating in his seat and uncontrollably excited by the turn of events.

“Tomorrow, 7pm, we’re grabbing dinner,” Steve told him, assertive and confident.

“And if I’m busy?” Bucky asked, searching Steve’s eyes because they just so close.

Briefly losing himself in the pond centred in Bucky’s eyes, he replied, “I’d be sad but it’s okay, we can reschedule.”

Nodding once, Bucky promised, “7pm. Dinner. I’ll be there.”

He had never been so relieved to hear three words before in his entire life. Bucky would be there. It was all that mattered. His world that was tilted in glee that spun with unrestrained jubilation, his happiness a phenomenon. Tomorrow, Steve had a date.

In the end, he caught the man he wanted in the fishnet too. His coffee shop wasn’t just a safe haven, it was a bearer of the miracles that went into creating it and delivered the energy back to its owner. Steve couldn’t stop grinning. He had a date.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr:  bountifulsilences   
> twitter:  AwestruckBuck 


End file.
